How I Go
by PiaculumDeFatum
Summary: Grissom is Greg's biological father. Greg doesn't know. Grissom tells Greg before leaving for his sabbatical, but what will the repercussions be? GregxGrissom FRIENDSHIP and slight GSR.
1. Prologue

**_Rating:_ **_K+ for some angst_

_**Warnings:** Swearing_

_**Spoilers:** Pre-Season 1 until after the episode "Leaving Las Vegas" (Before "Sweet Jane")  
_

**_Relationships:_**_ GSR, pre-Season 1 GrissomOC mentioned_

_**Summary:** Grissom is Greg's biological father. Greg doesn't know. Grissom tells Greg before leaving for his sabbatical, but what will the repercussions be?  
_

**_A/N:_**_ Hello everyone! This fic is...well, a little plot bunny that's been hanging around my mind and refusing to go away. What started as a songfic mutated into a multi-chapter fic. C'est la vie. In any case, this fic is based off the song "How I Go" by Yellowcard, and the italicized words at the beginning of each chapter (save the prologue) are from the song. The prologue is to the tune of "The Saddest Song" by the Ataris. I do not own any of the songs, characters, etc. I fully understand the probability of what I have written being nil, but that's ok with me. If you don't like the idea, then don't read it. The prologue basically details Grissom's life before the beginning of CSI. **ITALICS** in the prologue indicate a flashback. In any case, please read and review!_ _Thanks!_

Prologue

"**Still a few more months  
Until your birthday  
Yesterday was mine"**

Gil Grissom closed the file folder and set it on the desk. He blinked once, wearily, and rubbed his eyes. Glancing over at the mounting pile of paperwork in his inbox, he sighed. Gone one day, take one day off, and everything seemed to pile up.

Of course, he shouldn't complain. Youngest coroner of LA county at the age of twenty-two. It wasn't such a bad job, he supposed. Long hours and mostly autonomous, but not bad, all in all.

He pushed the paperwork aside and reached for the meagerly small stack of birthday cards. He looked at the return addresses, flipping through them. Most were from old college buddies and professors, but one stuck out, an address he didn't expect.

Brow furrowed, he opened the envelope and removed the contents: a folded letter, a hand-made card, and a picture. Grissom unfolded the letter first and read it slowly, not missing a word.

"Dear Gil,  
Happy Birthday. I'm sure you're surprised to hear from me. I'm surprised I wrote to you. I thought you might want to know about your son.  
I sent you a picture of him. He's such a beautiful boy. Luckily, he looks nothing like you. Gil, he doesn't know. About you. As far as he knows, Peter is his father. I'll probably tell him later in life, but I won't tell him who you are. That's for him to find out on his own.  
Oh, he wrote you a card. I told him you were one of 'Mommy's friends', so he wrote to you as such.  
Good-bye, Gil. I just wanted you to know what you were missing from your life.  
--Else Sanders"

Grissom set the letter down and exhaled deeply, closing his eyes for just a second. Else…Elisabeth. Hojem when he knew her, back at school. They had met in an entomology class, when she was 18 and he 19. A month later, she was pregnant, and he was…terrified.

So he had done the worst thing he had ever done in his entire life—broken ties with her and moved on with his life. She had moved home, given birth and married some guy named Peter Sanders, and that had been the end of it.

Grissom had almost gone to visit one day, three years ago, shortly before her marriage to Peter.

He hadn't gone. He couldn't bring himself to, hadn't been able to face her and his son. He didn't think he would've been able to live with himself if he had gone. As it was, he could barely live with himself, but had he gone, had he looked into his son's eyes…

Sighing, he picked up the picture and, taking a deep breath, really did look into his son's eyes.

"**You'll be turning five  
I know what it's like  
Growing up without your father in your life"**

Grissom had to bite back a curse as he looked at the picture. His son was beautiful Big, dark eyes, large and playful, hair not quite light, not quite dark. He looked just like his mother…just like Else. Tracing the picture absently with his finger, he flipped it over and read the back. "Four years old—May 5, 1979."

He turned it back over and looked into that little boy's eyes again. "Will you ever forgive me?" whispered Grissom aloud. The picture didn't answer; the smile was still perfect, if slightly crooked, those big eyes still innocent and trusting, frozen forever in a single moment.

Closing his eyes briefly, Grissom remembered his own vague memories of his father. He wasn't a bad man, his father, but he was rarely home, and when he was, he was quiet and distant. Still, he had missed him when he died, but was glad to know him for that brief time.

His son would never even know his father.

Grissom took a deep breath and picked up the birthday card. It was made from a sheet of construction paper. He half-smiled at the front, which featured a crayon-drawn blob that might be a birthday cake and the proclamation "Hapy Britdy!"

He opened it and read the massage inside, feeling his heart clench at the childish writing. "Hi Mister Grisum! My Mommy sez yur her frend, and I shuld tel yu hapy britdy.  
My britdy is in 9 monts. My mommy showd me how to count.  
I gota go. Hapy britdy, Mister Grisum! Maybe sumday, yu can be my frend, to!  
Luv,  
Greg Sanders"

Grissom felt tears prickle in his eyes and he cleared his throat loudly. "I hope I can be your friend, someday, too, Greg," he whispered hoarsely. "I hope so, one day."

**"So I pretend  
I'm doing all I can  
And hope someday you'll find it in your heart  
To understand  
Why I'm not around  
And forgive me for not being in your life"**

Grissom slid his key into the cold metal of the lock and twisted it, hearing the blot slide into place. The satisfying click seemed to echo in the emptiness he felt inside. If Else's letter had meant to hurt him, it had done its job and then some, reopening guilt he had stored away for years.

He had abandoned her. He knew that. 18 years old and pregnant and he had left her, choosing his academic career over his son, over that sweet boy whose picture he had hidden away in his desk. His son was being raised by another man because he hadn't been man enough to accept the responsibility.

Grissom had tried to argue that his future was important, that he was needed, especially as coroner now. But nothing could argue with the look in her eyes when he told her that he was leaving her, and nothing could argue with the guilt that threatened to consume Grissom even as he stood outside the morgue in downtown LA.

If Grissom had been a drinking man, he would've high-tailed it to the nearest bar to lose himself in a pungent liquid. As it was, he was going back to his empty apartment, to watch TV until exhaustion claimed him.

What was worse was knowing what could've been, what could be. He could be going home to see what new thing his son had made in preschool that day. He could be going home to a sweet, wonderful wife.

Instead, he had traded that for lonely nights and lonely days, with dead bodies for companions.

He had abandoned his son in hopes of finding a life with meaning. Now he wondered if the meaning had been his son all along.

"**I remember waiting  
For you to come  
Remember waiting  
For you to call  
Remember waiting there to find nothing at all  
I remember waiting  
For you to come  
Remember waiting  
For you to call  
Remember waiting there to find nothing at all"**

_Greg Sanders sat in front of the TV in the living room. His mother, standing behind him, was checking her lipstick in the reflection on the window. Had Greg been older, he might have been able to articulate his concern; as it was, at the age of two, he was still just barely able to string a coherent sentence together._

_His mother seemed exceptionally anxious today. She had told him a few minutes earlier that a man would be coming to visit him. His father._

_Greg's young mind could hardly wrap itself around the concept of a father. As far as he knew, it had always been him and his mother, and he would even have argued staunchly that his conception had been immaculate if, of course, he knew what either immaculate or conception was._

_He didn't know a father, a dad, a daddy. Sure, his mother had had boyfriends, men she brought home from time to time. But never a constant male figure, never this illusive father._

_Behind his, his mother checked her watch and swore softly under her breath. Greg looked up at her, solemn-eyed. "Mommy, where da?" he asked._

_She closed her eyes briefly and knelt to wrap him in a hug. "I don't think he's coming, sweetie. He's probably really busy."_

_As she held him close, Greg looked out the window at the blue, cloudless sky, wondering vaguely what his father could be doing that was more important than him._

The doorknob to the small San Gabriel house turned, and Greg Sanders was up and out of his chair and racing like a juggernaught toward the door, grasping the knees of the figure coming in. "Daddy!" exclaimed the four-year-old boy, his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

Peter Sanders laughed and reached down to pick up the already-giggling Greg. "Hey, Greggo."

Greg latched his arms around Peter's neck, kissing him once on the nose. Still giggling, he said, "I love you, Daddy."

Peter Sanders squeezed Greg just a little tighter, a proud smile on his face. "I love you, too, son."

"**Maybe someday  
You'll really get to know me  
Not just the letters read to you  
I pray I'll get the chance  
To make this up to you  
We've got a lot of catching up to do"**

Eleven years had passed since Grissom had received a card from a young boy that shared thirteen of his alleles. In the years that passed, Grissom had moved to Las Vegas and become a criminalist.

He had some friends, some real friends. The pieces of his life were falling into place. And well they should be. At 35, he should be settling down.

He was, in a way. But there was still no special woman in his life, and he wondered if there ever would be. He had loved a woman once, and part of him still loved her. A much larger part of him loved the boy he had never seen, the son he had never met.

Frowning, Grissom looked around his office, almost as if checking to see if anyone was there. He reached into his desk and pulled out a pad of paper with a half-written letter on the top page. Picking up his pen, he read what he had written thus far.

"Dear Else,  
I got you latest letter. I'm glad you told Greg. From what I hear, he's a smart boy. He would've figured it out eventually.  
In any case, since you told him, I was wondering if I could come by your place one day and introduce myself."

Grissom wet his lips and tightened his grip on his pen, continuing the letter. "I'd really like to get to know Greg. He's my son, and, well, I don't know. Please give me the chance to make up all the time we've lost.

Sincerely Yours,  
Gil Grissom"

Almost three weeks passed before he heard back from Else, and after reading her letter, he thought it might've been better had he not written in the first place.

"Gilbert—  
You want to make up the time with Greg? You can't make up for abandoning him. You don't deserve to know Greg.  
You spent 15 years ignoring him. Why should that change now?  
Do not contact me or Greg ever again, do you understand?  
Elisabeth Sanders"

Grissom set the letter on his desk with shaking hands. All his hopes had dissipated with a few viciously penned words.

His son was 15 now. Probably had braces. Maybe he even had glasses, like Grissom did at that age. Grissom didn't even know what color his hair was now.

All he had to go off of was an old, grainy black-and-white photograph from 1979. He pulled the photograph out from his desk and looked at it sadly. "We'll meet someday," he whispered before putting it back in his desk. "Someday."

"**So I pretend  
I'm doing all I can  
And hope someday you'll find it in your heart  
To understand  
Why I'm not around  
And forgive me for not being in your life"**

Grissom sat in the break room, gazing morosely down at the cup of coffee in his hands. It was terrible coffee, and he absently wished he would hire someone who could actually make halfway-decent coffee.

A knock sounded on the door and Detective Jim Brass strolled in. "Hey, Gil," he said, setting a file folder down on the table.

Sitting up, Grissom set his features into his usual stoic expression. "Jim. Did you track down our vic's car?"

"Yeah, it was abandoned in an alley. They're towing it as we speak." Brass sat down at the table and studied Grissom carefully. "Is everything ok, Gil?"

Grissom swallowed and shook his head slowly. Before he knew it, he was pouring out the entire story to Brass, who listened carefully. When Grissom was finished, Brass sat back in his chair and exhaled deeply. "Wow. That's touch," he mused aloud.

Smiling wryly, Grissom muttered, "Understatement of the year." Sighing, he leaned forward and asked, "What do you think I should do?"

Brass frowned. "Not much you can do. I've got a kid myself. Ellie. She's a…handful. And if there's one thing I've learned from her, you still gotta give them room to grow and figure things out. Going to see Greg now, after he's just learned the news, is probably not a good idea."

"So I should wait more," sighed Grissom. "I don't know if I can."

"You're gonna have to," said Brass standing up. "Kids also teach the important lesson of patience."

Grissom stopped him from leaving. "Jim, how do you do it? Your job, I mean?"

Pausing, Brass looked over at him. "I know that everyday, I put away one more bastard that could've hurt my little girl. And that's enough at the end of the day. That's enough to let me sleep again."

"**I remember waiting  
For you to come  
Remember waiting  
For you to call  
Remember waiting there to find nothing at all  
I remember waiting  
For you to come  
Remember waiting  
For you to call  
Remember waiting there to find nothing at all"**

Music pounded from the stereo so loudly that the door shook on its frame. Greg Sanders lay huddled on his bed, wrapped in his blanket, next to the tattered remains of the first teddy bear his "father" had gotten him.

Greg chuckled bitterly to himself, the last of his tears oozing salty paths down his cheeks. He had raged when he had found out. Sobbed, screamed, cursed, the works. But none of it changed the fact that the man he knew as "dad" was not biologically related to him.

And so his whole life had been a lie.

His first act of violence once he had stormed to his room had been to destroy his first chemistry set, the very one his "father" had given him.

Chemistry, biology, science…he had loved it, and it had betrayed him. Or he had betrayed himself. He'd been too stupid to notice, too blind to see it.

Suddenly, he sat up. Standing, he strode to his desk and pulled out a spare spiral notebook. He picked up a pencil, paused for a moment, then began scribbling rapidly.

"Dear Dad,  
I found out today. About you, I mean. That my dad's not my real dad. I just hope you're happy, wherever you are. 'Cause I'm miserable now, thanks to you.  
I hate you, you know. From what my mom tells me, you left me and her when you found out she was pregnant. What kind of asshole does that? I hate you, and I will never stop hating you.  
I just wish that you coulda stuck around long enough to maybe get to know me or something. But you didn't even want to do that.  
You're selfish, and arrogant, and if you died tomorrow, in all honesty, I could care less."

By this time, the tears had started fresh down his face, blurring his vision so he couldn't even see what he was writing. They fell like raindrops on the paper, and he shoved it away from himself, furiously wiping the tears off his cheeks. "I hate you," he whispered, dark eyes burning. "And I will never forgive you. Never."

"**Forgive me  
I'm so sorry  
I will make it up to you"**

The nine years that followed had taken their toll on Grissom. They showed in every line of his face, every gray hair on his scalp.

He was halfway happy now. He had a good team. Catherine Willows, Warrick Brown, Nick Stokes, with Jim Brass to head them all. A good team.

And he had thrown himself headfirst into his work, trying to atone for his previous sins. He had been Catholic, once, after all. Perhaps this was his penance.

Sighing deeply, he took his glasses off and set them on his desk, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Another double shift, and—

A knock on the door interrupted him mid-thought, and he called, "Come in."

Judy poked her head in. "Mr. Grissom, your candidate for DNA tech is here for his interview."

Grissom's brow furrowed. "I don't recall scheduling—" he started, but a voice from behind Judy cut him off.

"You didn't schedule it. I did." Brass's tone was even, and bore no room for argument. He turned to Judy. "Set him up in the break room and we'll be right there. Thanks." Once Judy left, Brass stepped into the office and shut the door behind him.

Grissom looked up at him calmly. "This is new, Jim. I didn't realize you were so into setting up personnel interviews."

Taking a seat, Brass set a file folder down on the desk, but didn't give it to Grissom, keeping his hand on it instead. "This application found its way on to my desk, and I thought you might be interested, so I scheduled an interview."

Raising one eyebrow, Grissom asked dryly. "And what made you think I'd be interested?"

Brass dodged the question. "You should see his credentials. Stanford graduate—Phi Beta Kappa—and worked for the San Francisco police department as their lab tech for two years, and—"

"Jim." Grissom's tone was calm, but bordering on impatience.

Meeting his eyes, Brass said quietly, "The kid's name is Greg Sanders."

Grissom thought his heart had stopped. He stared at Brass, speechless. "Coincidence—" he started, but Brass shook his head.

"Did some digging. His mother's name is Elisabeth Sanders, maiden name Hojem. This is for real, Gil."

Grissom desperately wanted his brain to start functioning again, but everything seemed to be going in slow motion. "We can't tell him."

Brass looked confused. "What do you mean, we can't tell him?"

Standing, Grissom started to pace. "We can't tell him. Last thing he needs is to come in for a job and leave with a father."

"What about the job?"

Grissom waved a hand dismissively. "He has the job. If he's as qualified as you say, then he's perfect." Grissom stopped pacing and turned to Brass. "Promise me you won't say anything."

Brass held his hands up. "Hey, it's yours to tell, not mine." He jerked his head toward the door. "Now c'mon. Even if the kid has the job, we still gotta interview him,"

"Right," said Grissom. He led the way to the break room, barely able to contain himself. When he arrived, he paused before going in, savoring his first look at his son.

He was tall. Taller than Grissom by an inch or two at least. And he was skinny, something he surely didn't inherit from Grissom. His hair was brown with some fading brown highlights and was sort of spiked. His eyes were the same rich chocolate that they had been in the picture, but they glowed with a warmth that no photograph could capture. He wore a hideously ugly button-down shirt and a pair of loose blue jeans and Converse shoes. And in Grissom's eyes, he was perfect.

Taking a deep breath, Grissom went in, offering Greg his hand. "Mr. Sanders. I'm Gil Grissom, CSI Level 3 and head CSI for the night shift. It's nice to meet you."

Greg's eyes seemed to glow as he answered, "Nice to meet you, too, sir."

Brass came in as well. "Mr. Sanders? Detective Jim Brass, Supervisor for the night shift." He continued exchanging pleasantries with Greg while Grissom just sat back and studied him.

Greg was like a ball of kinetic energy, shifting in his seat and tapping his feet and hardly able to keep still. He had a youth-like quality to him that defied his age. There was a magnetism around him that just drew people in. He was one of those people you couldn't not be friends with.

After about twenty minutes of Brass's questions, Grissom cut him off. "Mr. Sanders, you have the job. Welcome to my team."

Greg's eyes lit up in shock. "Really?" he asked, his face breaking into a grin.

"Really," answered Grissom, hiding a smile. "You start Monday. Be here 8 pm, sharp."

Greg stood and shook Grissom's hand heartily. "Thank you, Mr. Grissom," he said, still grinning. "I look forward to working with you."

As Greg turned and walked away, Grissom felt a true grin break across his face. "So do I," he whispered to his son's retreating back in response. "So do I."


	2. Chapter 1

_**A/N:** So, first real chapter. Woo! Thanks for the kind reviews thus far, and I hope you keep them coming! This chapter basically details the highlights of seasons 1-6, with Grissom's take on events and on Greg's evolution of sorts. Basically, it's a character study of Greg through the seasons, and, while it doesn't further the plot (that'll be next chapter), it does sort of establish Greg and Grissom's relationship. Specific spoilers for episodes 208 ("Slaves of Las Vegas"), 218 ("Chasing the Bus"), 220 ("Cats in the Cradle), 318 ("Precious Metal"), 322 ("Play With Fire"), 323 ("Inside the Box"), 501 ("Viva Las Vegas"), 509 ("Mea Culpa"), 511 ("Who Shot Sherlock"), 524 ("Grave Danger"), and 623/624 ("Bang Bang"/"Way to Go"). In any case, usual disclaimer applies; I don't own 'em, and chances are, I never will. Once again, song is "How I Go" by Yellowcard. Peace!_

Chapter 1

"_I could tell you the wildest of tales  
My friend the giant  
And traveling sales"_

Grissom had never gotten to watch his son grow up, a fact that he regretted every day. But once Greg became a lab tech at the crime lab, Grissom got to watch him grow up in another way.

When Greg started, he was, well, immature, to be frank. And well he should've been. He was 24 when he started working at the crime lab. Twenty-four years old. He still wore those hideous shirts and his hair kind of looked like he'd stuck it in a blender, but he had that smile that--though they would always vehemently deny it--charmed the ladies, and he had that quirky fun side that made him instant friends with most of the guys.

Grissom was hard on him, that first year or two. In fact, at some points, he was downright mean to him. And he didn't hide how much Greg could irritate him; Greg could be irritating, but he was also Grissom's son, and Grissom recognized a large part of himself in Greg. Grissom tried to tell himself that he would've been that hard on any new lab tech, but the fact remained that he was purposely hard on Greg. It wasn't that he wanted to see him fail. It was just that he wanted to see if he would.

Luckily, Greg was equal to any task life seemed to through at him, and Grissom breathed a little easier.

When Greg turned twenty-six, he "let down his hair" a little, as Catherine had called it. He traded his button-downs for band t-shirts. Starting by blasting rock music at inhuman levels in the DNA lab, he shook things up, whether is was making Nicky guess chemical compounds or sticking Sharpies up his nose.

He also emerged as a lady's man…or not. He hit on Sara, in an actually kind of sweet way. Whether it was just a crush or something more than that, Grissom had to admit his son had good taste.

And Greg had gotten his first taste of being in the field. Though he had frozen, though he had panicked, Grissom knew he was capable. And part of him hoped he would follow in his father's footprints and become a criminalist, too.

At the age of 27, Greg mellowed. He was still his quirky, crazy self, but calmer. More confident. Less like a monkey on speed, as someone had once described him. More level-headed.

This was also the year that he confided to Grissom his apparitions to move into the field. Grissom had to admit, he had been invaluable on the case he had helped with. The best part was that Greg didn't care about the money; he cared about the job. That was what Grissom wanted to see in his son, and was so proud that day.

This was also the year when he watched his only child get propelled by a blast of flame through a glass window. If Grissom had been a normal human being, he would've rushed to Greg's side, making sure he was alright, following him to the hospital to check on him. Well, he did make sure he was alright, and he visited him…eventually. But the Grissom-mind always conquered the Dad-mind, and instead of confessing everything to Greg since he looked like he was dying, for Christ's sake, lying there, drifting in and out of consciousness…instead of telling him, he had checked on Sara.

That was the year when he had his surgery done, too. He had almost told Greg, that day. When he was going to leave, Greg had seen him and asked if he was ok. Grissom had just replied with his standard response, ignoring the feeling that he should tell him, because he was his son and he deserved to know. But he hadn't. Whatever the patriarchal feelings that had stirred in him, he kept his tongue.

The age of 28 was a bit of a transition for Greg, as it was for Grissom. Greg balanced lab work and field work, stepping into the shoes of a CSI for the first time; Grissom grew a beard.

Greg also did his hair in a different style every other week. One day it was almost darkish brown; the next, it looked like a bottle of bleach had exploded on it.

But one of the most important years had been when Greg was 29. Why? Because he passed his proficiency.

Ok, so he had failed the first time. But Grissom had given him another chance, because Grissom had known that Greg was capable of so much. And he wanted Greg to see that.

Greg had passed the second time, though, with flying colors. As Grissom had explained to him, being a CSI wasn't always about getting the bad guy. It was about collecting and interpreting the evidence. And that's what Greg had done.

Grissom's team had been split, and that had just about killed Grissom to see. He had been quick to claim his son, and not just because Greg was his son; though still a young CSI, he already excelled, and was sure to continue.

That was also when Nicky was kidnapped. That had been a hard time for all of them. Greg had been so calm, so focused. Even though Nick was one of his best friends, he had kept his cool. Grissom had almost told him, then. He had been so close to losing Nicky that he realized he could lose Greg at anytime, too. But somehow, in that moment, it didn't seem right.

Greg's 30th year had passed without much ado for the young CSI. He started to grow his hair out. Grissom just chuckled to himself. Greg was trying to be so professional now, not realizing that he had been fine before

Brass had been shot. That had been a milestone that none of them would ever forget. It still weighed heavily on Grissom's mind. To have the one person who Grissom really considered his best friend and confidant shot was beyond hurtful. And when he ran into Greg at the hospital, he realized that his son was a lot closer to the gruff police captain than either would ever admit.

And watching Ellie and Jim, together like that after such a distance, made Grissom realize that he had to tell Greg. And soon.

Because the consequences could be dire if he didn't.


	3. Chapter 2

_**A/N:** Set during Episode 704 ("Fannysmackin'"). Thanks once more for all the great reviews! I'm glad people are into this. Makes me happy. Um, some Grissom angst in this one. And Greg angst, obviously. Usual Disclaimer applies. Please R and R!  
_

Chapter 2

"_Tell you all the times that I failed  
The years all behind me  
The stories exhaled"_

When the call came in, Grissom had literally felt his heart stop. There was one CSI in the field, one CSI that he had sent in. His son.

The officer was still standing next to him, the crackly call over his walkie-talkie still echoing through Grissom's mind. _"Officer down, repeat, CSI down."_

Five million emotions were flooding Grissom's brain and he didn't even know what he was supposed to do. His son could be dead, and he never even got to tell him.

Grissom felt someone steer him out of the middle of the hallway and into a room. He heard the door shut behind him, but it was as if it was happening miles away. He was pushed into a chair, and a glass was thrust into his hand.

Ordered to drink, he did, feeling a burning taste in his throat. It cleared his mind and he was able to focus for the first time.

Brass's hazy features swam into focus before him. "Jim," he croaked, blinking. "Jim, Greg…he's…"

"I heard" said Brass softly. He motioned for Grissom to take another drink. "However, I also heard the paramedic's report." He paused and looked at Grissom seriously. "He's been hurt, bad. They beat him really good. But he'll live, Gil. He's gonna be alright."

Closing his eyes, Grissom exhaled deeply, feeling like a thousand pounds had been lifted from his shoulders. "Thank God," he said, opening his eyes and nodding once. "Alright, I better head over to the lab and get someone." Pausing, Grissom asked quietly, "What happened, Jim? To Greg?"

Brass met his eyes, a smile forming. "He saved the life of a tourist." Clapping Grissom on the shoulder, he added, "You should be very proud of your son, Gil."

"I am," whispered Grissom as Brass left. "I am."

* * *

Grissom took his time in going to the hospital once Greg was brought in. He told himself that he didn't want to seem too eager, too worried, but in reality, he was scared. Scared to see how hurt Greg was. Scared to have to realize how close he had come to losing him for good. 

When he got there, he took a deep breath before going into Greg's room. Then he went in.

It was worse than Grissom had allowed himself to picture in his mind. His imagination apparently couldn't do justice to human cruelty.

Greg's eyes were closed, but the doctor had said he wasn't asleep. Still, Grissom found it hard to bring him from his rest, when it looked like he so desperately needed it. "Greg?" he said hesitantly, carefully.

Greg's left eye opened and focused on him. "Grissom," he said slowly, dulled by the drugs and shock.

He was so un-Greg like that it hurt Grissom almost as much as seeing him lie there did. Grissom tried for the glib humor that Greg seemed to revel in. "Just another day at the office, huh?"

Greg didn't smile, though. "Well, as least I can see now." He shifted slightly. "The guy they beat up…how is he?"

This was a safe topic, and the relief showed on Grissom's face as he answered, "He's gonna be fine."

But then Greg moved on to dangerous ground, crossing a bridge Grissom hadn't wanted to, yet. "What about the other guy? The guy I hit?"

Grissom decided matter-of-fact would work best here. "His name is Demetrius James. He's in surgery."

Looking up at him, Greg slurred, "Is he, like, a gang banger or something?"

Even though he tried to find a way to say this so it wouldn't sound bad, there was just no way to do it. "Actually…he's a student at the university."

Worry and something like fear shone in Greg's eye as he asked quietly, "He gonna be ok?"

Grissom swallowed hard. "I don't know."

Greg looked away and turned slightly, sighing. Grissom hurriedly tried to stop him from thinking about it. "Has anyone called your parents? We should let them know."

Simply grunting in response, Greg still didn't look at Grissom. Grissom frowned deeply and asked, "What's the matter?"

Swallowing hard, Greg said softly, "They still think I'm in the lab."

This baffled Grissom. Greg had come to him almost four years ago with the desire to move into the field. He had kept this from his parents for that long? "Why do they think that?"

Greg looked at him. "When I was in high school…I never played any sports. No football, no basketball. Definitely no hockey."

Though it wasn't really funny, the mental image of Greg playing hockey caused Grissom to half-smile. "I never would've guessed." Inwardly, he winced. He should've shared some anecdote of his high school days, instead of scoffing at Greg's.

Greg's eye darkened. "It wasn't by choice. My mom wanted four kids. Ended up with only one." He said in softer tones, "She always made sure I stayed close. If I got a nosebleed, she'd take me to the E.R."

That was an interesting twist in Grissom's opinion of Else. She had never seemed the cautious type when he had known her. There again, being a single mom couldn't have been easy on her. Grissom's heart went out to the young CSI. He could've been there for Greg. He wouldn't have been much help practicing for a game of anything, but he would've let him play. "Well…now would be the time to come clean."

"My mom's gonna freak," whispered Greg, beginning to cry softly to himself.

That broke Grissom's heart, seeing Greg cry. He swallowed and said, "You tell her that you risked your life to save someone else's…and I think she'll be very proud of you." _Just like your father is very proud of you_, he wanted to add, but he didn't.

Greg just cried quietly, and Grissom shifted uncomfortably. If this had been anyone else, he would've bolted by now. But this was his son, and wasn't he supposed to be there to comfort his son?

After a few moments, Greg stopped. Turning back to Grissom, he said hollowly, "I'm going to sleep now, if that's ok."

"Yeah, that's fine," said Grissom automatically. Pausing, he looked down at him. "And Greg…we're all very proud of you, too."

With that said, he turned and left. He met up with Sara in the hallway. "Hey," she said. "Doctor found these in Demetrius James."

Grissom took the offered container and looked inside, his forehead wrinkling. "Contact lenses?"

"Special kind," said Sara. "They're called Halloween lenses. They're wearing costumes."

"Great," said Grissom, a tinge of bitterness to his words. "Just a game to them." He fell silent, looking down at the contracts broodingly.

Sara looked concernedly at him. "Hey," she said softly, touching his arm. "Is everything alright?"

Grissom struggled to keep his emotions in check. "Fine," he said tightly. He handed the contacts back to her distractedly. "Look, take these back to the lab. I've…I've got something I need to do."

* * *

Back in his office, Grissom looked down at the form in front of him. This was a big step. Hand shaking slightly, he picked up his pen and looked down. "Emergency Contact/Next of Kin." 

He took one deep breath and then wrote slowly on the line, "Gregory Hojem Sanders." Next to it, on the line labeled "Relation to Applicant", Grissom wrote boldly for all the world to see, "Son."


	4. Chapter 3

_**A/N: **So, since I got so much love last chapter (thanks, by the way!), and since this chapter is so short, I figured I'd post it now instead of later. This chapter is set just after Episode 706 ("Burn Out"), and henceforth contains spoilers for that episode. Usual disclaimer applies. Yeah, that's about it. Short and sweet. Next chapter is much longer.  
_

Chapter 3

"_And I'm dying out  
Crying out  
This isn't how I go"_

Grissom closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, fatigue adding new wrinkled to his face daily. He felt old, weary, and worst of all, felt like he no longer made a difference.

That little boy was dead, and though in his heart he knew he couldn't have prevented it, it still stung. He had tried so hard to find him, to save him, to make it all ok, and it hadn't been.

And then that…that monster wheedling, pleading almost, begging Grissom to believe his innocence. And Grissom had wanted to.

Sighing, Grissom rested his head on his hand. Brass had told him once, years ago, that he did his job to keep the world safe for Ellie. Grissom had tried to do the same for Greg, regardless of the fact that Greg was an adult now. But somehow, the justice system had failed, and now a child was dead because of it.

Grissom reached into his desk drawer and pulled out the picture he had kept there for years, the one of Greg. He smoothed the edges and just looked at it, the ache in his chest intensifying. What kind of world was this, where children get murdered? What kind of world, where good, honest men get beat up trying to save someone's life?

Letting the photo flutter to the desk, Grissom pinched the bridge of his nose. On top of everything, he had this headache that just wouldn't seem to go away. He rubbed his temples and leaned back in his chair, frown turning thoughtful.

He needed a break. A break from work, a break from society, a break from life. For awhile he'd been contemplating taking a sabbatical, and now seemed like a very good time to do so.

His gaze fell on the picture of Greg and he sighed again. Before he left, he would have to tell Greg. He didn't think he would be able to face himself if he left without telling Greg.

It seemed cowardly, though, to tell him and then run off. But there was no other real option, no other time to tell him, not with the coroner's inquest coming up so soon.

Mind made up, Grissom slid the photo back into his desk and closed his eyes, trying to block out the world around him. He would tell him, and he would leave. Soon.


	5. Chapter 4

_**A/N: **Spoilers for "Loco-Motives" (I'm too lazy to look up the episode number). Bit of a cliffie at the end of this one. Usual disclaimer applies. Please R+R! Thanks!_

Chapter 4

"_I would tell you of a man not so tall  
Who said life's a circus  
And so we are small"_

Grissom sat in his office, reviewing the file on the miniature killer. Another life lost. A murderer's, yes, but still a life, and the Catholic that lay dormant in him somehow couldn't reconcile with the unnecessary death.

It was just another reason to leave. Just another reason to get away from it all, from this city, and these people and the meaningless crime and murder.

He closed his eyes for just a moment when a knock on the door startled him from his reverie. Opening his eyes slowly, he called, "Yes?"

Greg stood at the door, looking slightly apprehensive about something. "Hey, Grissom. Um…am I disturbing you? 'Cause I can come back."

"No, Greg, you're fine," said Grissom, stifling a yawn. "What can I do for you?"

Shifting slightly, Greg continued to look nervous. "Um, well, my mom's here, visiting. Checking up on me, more like, but either way, she's here, and I wanted her to meet you. Since, you know, you're my boss, and…well, I sorta consider you my friend, and so…yeah."

Grissom raised an eyebrow at him, the outward epitome of calm, but inside, his heart was racing. This was his chance to see Else again, after all there years.

He felt a sudden pang of guilt, remembering Sara, who was probably waiting for him at home. Besides, Else could ruin everything.

Just as Grissom made the decision not to meet Else, he heard himself saying, "Sure, Greg. Bring her in."

Grinning, Greg said, "Great, I'll go get her," but Grissom barely heard him. How could he'd have agreed to this? How could he see Else again after all this time? He desperately tried to flatten his thinning hair, and he adjusted his glasses on his nose. Did he look alright?

Suddenly, he paused, and started laughing to himself. He sounded like that 19-year-old boy that fell in love with Else the first time around.

Straightening, he stood, ready to see her. And then there she was, next to her son, next to their son, looking even better than he could remember, looking so much like Greg that it almost hurt Grissom to see. She was beautiful, still, as beautiful as she had been that day when she told him that she was pregnant. She looked…happy, yes, though there was a tinge of sadness that weighed on her now where it hadn't before.

It was in that moment, with that first look at her, when Grissom remembered what it was like to be in love, and though it may have been nothing more than a memory or a dream, he felt that he fell back in love with her all over again. His mouth went dry and all he managed to say was, "Else."

She looked at him, those deep, dark eyes questioning, then they lit in recognition, and in her eyes he could see the struggle, how torn she was between the anger she still felt and the joy she now felt at seeing him. The joy must've won, because he eyes softened and she said quietly, "Gil."

Greg raised an eyebrow and looked from his mother to Grissom. "Um…ok. I see introductions aren't needed, but I think explanations are."

Raising an eyebrow as well, Else looked at Grissom before switching her gaze to Greg and saying carefully, "Uh, Gil and I went to school together. College, in fact. We had an entomology class together, and Gil helped me study."

"I thought you didn't go to college," said Greg, not accusingly, but curiously.

Else's gaze flicked to Grissom and then back to Greg, and she smiled and said lightly, ""Well, I was at college until the best mistake of my life happened, and then I kinda had to drop out."

When she smiled, it was Greg's smile, and Grissom marveled at how little of himself had found its way to his son. Greg looked at Else and said softly, "I'm sorry."

She ruffled Greg's hair affectionately. "Hey, it wasn't your fault."

Greg turned to Grissom and asked, "Did you know my father? He went to school with you, didn't he?"

Panicking for just a moment, Grissom looked at Else to see her looking steadily back at him. Grissom wet his lips and said cautiously. "I did know him, once. A very long time ago. I have not seen him for many years, though." He looked at Else again, and she inclined her head a bit in understanding.

She turned back to Greg. "Greg, sweetheart, I'd like to speak to Gil for a bit. Catch up some, you know. I'll meet you back at your apartment."

No suspicion crossed Greg's face, and Grissom realized guiltily that Greg genuinely had no idea what was going on. "Ok, Mom." Greg kissed her on the cheek, nodded at Grissom and left, closing the door behind him.

Grissom's breath hitched as Else looked at him, one eyebrow raised, and he cleared his throat. "Uh, I need to make a phone call real quick, if you don't mind."

She nodded and sat in the chair across from his desk, draping one still impossibly long leg over the other. He nodded as well and picked up the phone, quickly dialing his apartment. When Sara picked up, he said, "Hey. It's me. Um, I've been holed up at the office with something. Don't wait up for me, alright?"

Hanging up the phone, he turned back to Else. She cocked her head quizzically. "Wife?" she asked casually.

Grissom shook his head. "Girlfriend. Kind of. It's complicated." He sat down and looked at her carefully. "How are you?" he asked softly, gently.

Waving her hand dismissively, she said airily, "Oh, you know me. I'm doing just fine." She leaned forward. "You didn't tell Greg."

Carefully dodging the implied question, Grissom remarked, "He's a beautiful boy, Else. Amazingly smart, funny, friendly. Incredible."

"Yes, he is," said Else, smiling. Her smile faded as she looked at Grissom sternly. "But do you really mean to tell me that you've been working with him all this time and still haven't told him? And you can't tell me that you didn't know." She paused, then nodded slowly. "Your name is on the birth certificate. I'm surprised Greg hasn't figured it out yet, though I'm sure he assumed I didn't put a name on there."

She paused and said quietly, dark eyes searching Grissom's, "You need to tell him. Especially since you told him that you knew his father."

"I know," sighed Grissom, rubbing his eyes. "And I plan on it. Soon. Like tomorrow."

Nodding, she leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "Good." Looking at him sadly, she said softly, "I've missed you."

Grissom wanted to reach out and touch her arm, but he refrained. "I've missed you, too." He looked at her earnestly. "Else, I just want you to know I never stopped loving you, after we…after I left."

Her eyes flashed and she snapped, "Oh, sure, Gil. You never stopped loving me, but you sure as hell didn't love me enough to stick around."

"It wasn't like that," protested Grissom, wincing at the venom in her voice. "I wasn't man enough to stay, and I readily admit that, but it had nothing to do with me loving you."

Tears glinted in Else's eyes and she whispered, "No, but you never loved your son enough to call, or even show your face once in awhile."

Grissom's face turned icy and he spat vehemently, "It wasn't me who said never to contact you or Greg again. That was all you, Else. All you."

She stood, furious. "And you had every opportunity for fifteen years before that. Instead, you shut yourself up with your bodies and your bugs and left me to care for our son."

They both stared at each other, anger radiating from one to the other. Suddenly, Else started laughing and collapsed into her chair. It was a bittersweet laugh, a haunted laugh, a weary laugh. "God, Gil, thirty-one years later and we're still fighting." She paused and sighed, smile fading. "I leave tomorrow. If you're going to break our son's heart, please do it after I leave."

Standing, she reached out and grasped Grissom's hand, a smile touching her face briefly. "Good-bye, Gil. This time, please write. Or call." She squeezed his hand and whispered, "Keep in touch."

Grissom stared after her, watching her walk away this time, and his heart clenched. "I will," he said to her retreating back. "I will."

* * *

The next day, once work was over, Grissom asked Greg to come into his office. The young CSI came, the expression of curiosity written in his dark eyes. He sat in the chair across from Grissom's desk and said, "What's up, Griss?" 

Grissom sat down as well, studying Greg with clear eyes. Finally, he asked, "Did your mom go back to California today?"

"Yeah," said Greg, smiling slightly and rolling his eyes. "And thank God. She was beginning to drive me nuts."

Nodding, a wry smile touching Grissom's lips, he said softly, "Greg, we need to talk."

Greg looked at him, surprised. "Grissom, what's going on?"

Taking a deep breath, Grissom said hesitantly, "Greg…I'm your father."


	6. Chapter 5

**_A/N: _**_Tee-hee. Sorry about that cliffie, everyone. The good news is, this new chapter is up pretty quickly. Not too much to say about this one. Greg angst, Grissom angst. Usual disclaimer applies. Peace!_

Chapter 5

"_And I'm drying out  
Crying out  
This isn't how I go  
Hurry now  
Lay me down  
And let these waters flow"_

Greg stared at him, face blank and mouth gaping. Suddenly, he grinned and said, unnaturally loud and jolly, "Now, c'mon, Griss, you shouldn't joke about that kind of thing."

Grissom shook his head, suddenly feeling weary and drained. "Greg, believe me, this is one thing I would never joke about. When I was 19, I met your mother, and shortly thereafter, you were conceived." He broke off, unwilling to go further into the story.

Instead he began to gather his papers, giving his hands something to do, giving himself something to do besides watch Greg. "I'm telling you this now because I'm going to be leaving soon. I'm taking a sabbatical, and—"

Greg slammed his hand on Grissom's desk, cutting him off. "Damnit, Grissom, you don't just get to say, 'Hey, I'm your dad. Now I'm checking out' and then leave." Greg's voice shook with anger, and his eyes burned with a hatred that had appeared from seemingly nowhere. "I need an explanation. Damnit, I deserve an explanation."

Pausing, he suddenly chuckled, and when he spoke again, his voice contained a sort of strangled hope. "Hell, I bet you're joking. Maybe this is some kind of gag you and my mom decided to pull over me. Hey, it worked! Congratulations, you got me."

Grissom shook his head again, miserably. "I wish this was a joke, Greg. I can't even begin to imagine how hard this is for you."

A frantic hope was etched on Greg's face as he visibly searched for some way to pop the proverbial bubble of Grissom's announcement. "Ok, you're my father," he said slowly, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms, a small smile on his face. "Prove it."

Raising an eyebrow, Grissom asked dryly, "What do you want me to do, compare our DNA?"

Greg sat up straight. "That's it. DNA. I'll prove this is a mistake." He practically leapt from his chair and ran to the DNA lab.

Thankfully, Wendy wasn't in there, and Greg sat at the computer, pulling up the county records. He put in his password and selected his file, pulling up his DNA profile. He also pulled up Grissom's and set the computer to compare the two.

As the computer took a few moments, Greg did too, sitting back in his chair and running a hand through his hair contemplatively. There was no way Grissom could be his father. He would know if Grissom was his father. He had been working here for seven years now! And why wouldn't Grissom tell him?

Sure, he might not have known, but from what Greg's mother had told him, his father knew damn that she was pregnant when he left her. He just couldn't picture Grissom being such a bastard.

Besides, weren't there, like, legal steps that had to be taken? There would be a paper trail somewhere, wouldn't there be?

The printer broke through Greg's thoughts as it began printing, and Greg rushed over, waiting impatiently. The printer took forever to print, and once it was done, Greg held his breath and picked it up, scanning it quickly.

Thirteen alleles in common.

He didn't even feel the paper flutter from his hands as he stared in shock. He sat down on the ground, hard, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. He felt like he was 15 again, just finding out that Peter Sanders wasn't his father.

His whole world had been blown apart by that news, and his world was falling apart now.

Grissom had lied to him. For seven years, he had pretended to be Greg's boss only, and then a colleague, and then Greg had even thought of Grissom as his friend.

He had proven himself to be every ounce of the bastard that Greg had thought his father to be some 16 years.

Greg didn't feel the tears dripping down his face; he didn't hear someone come in behind him. The only thing he was conscious of was the knowledge that Grissom had betrayed him.

He did feel himself get pulled up off the floor, and he felt someone walk him out of the lab. Looking up, he realized it was Grissom, and he instantly stopped walking, yanking his shoulder from Grissom clasp. "Get your hand off me," he snarled, low and deadly.

Grissom's hand tightened on his shoulder, and Grissom said quietly, "Greg, now is not the time for this. Let's go back to my office and then we can talk."

Greg shrugged his hand off and turned his face to him, anger crackling in his eyes. "Damnit, this is as good a place to talk as any, right?"

Frowning, Grissom said, forcedly calm, "No, this really isn't. I'd rather discuss this in private." Trying to put some levity into the situation, he added, "I don't want this to become part of the office gossip."

Unfortunately, this was the wrong thing to say. Greg's eyes shone with unshed tears and he whispered hollowly, "Yeah, that would be such a travesty for your well-kept secret to get out." Pausing, he added harshly, "I mean, what would Sara think, right?"

Grissom was taken aback, and he blinked at Greg, realizing that he had underestimated the hatred Greg still harbored. "That was low, Greg," he said quietly. "My personal relationships are inconsequential."

"Apparently, your familial relationships are as well, right?" Greg snapped. He shook his head and laughed dryly. "Whatever, Grissom. You abandoned me once. I guess it doesn't matter if you do it again."

"Greg—" said Grissom, desperation beginning to show in his voice, but Greg just shook his head.

"No, Grissom. You had no problem walking away before. Why is this time different?"

Grissom's jaw tightened. "Because I didn't know you then. Because I didn't know what a wonderful person you were. Because I'm your father, whether or not you want it to be so."

Drawing himself up to his full height, Greg seemed to tower above Grissom for a moment, and Grissom couldn't help but cringe. "No, Grissom. You gave me half your DNA; you may have even loved my mother once. But that does not make you my father. My father is the man who held me when I had nightmates, who helped me build a birdhouse in fifth grade, who loved me even when I was not his. That man is my father."

Grissom had a stricken look on his face, and even as he opened his mouth to speak, Greg continued, looking him straight in the eye. "You will never be my father, because you don't even know what it means to be a father, what it means to love someone and sacrifice everything for him. When you figure that out, when you decide that's what you want to do, maybe you can come find me, and maybe we'll talk."

Greg started to walk away, but Grissom called him back. "Greg, don't walk away from me."

"Why?" asked Greg, his dark eyes flat and blank, emotionless. "You did. Why shouldn't I?" He turned away, calling over his shoulder, "I'm taking tomorrow off."

As Grissom watched his only son walk away, he finally realized just a hint of what Greg felt, feeling his heart break.


	7. Chapter 6

_**A/N: **Another day, another chapter...this one contains mucho Grissom angst. Um, yeah...usual disclaimer applies. Please read and review! Thanks! _

Chapter 6

_Son I am not everything  
You thought that I would be  
But every story I have told  
Is part of me"_

Grissom felt lost. This drifting sort of nothingness feeling was alien to him. Grissom normally had a plan. Grissom always had a plan. But not this time, and the feeling was genuinely disconcerting to him. He had a hollow feeling in his gut that would not abate, whether it was of guilt or regret, but it gnawed at him, and would not be bottled up.

Staring at the photograph on the desk, he traced the features absently. Greg's eyes, his smile, the happiness that seemed to echo from every inch of Greg.

Grissom wondered if he would ever be that happy again.

That thought burned in his mind and seared his throat as he felt tears prickle behind his eyes. He had done this, he had hurt his son this way. And he had to be the one to fix it.

But how? How could he mend the wounds that ran deeper than he knew, and how could he heal a heart?

He needed help. He desperately needed help. And as much as that hurt his pride and as much as it bothered his ego, he needed it, And now.

And there was only one person he knew could help him.

Brass did not come alone to Grissom's office. He brought his old, trusty bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey with him. "Hey," he said, stepping into Grissom's office. "I figured you could use a pick-me-up."

Grissom looked like he needed something. There was a haunted look about him, combined with a weary sadness that had aged Grissom about ten years in only a few short hours. Grissom's eyes met his, and he nodded once, jerkily. "Thanks, Jim."

Sitting down across from Grissom, Brass poured two glasses of amber liquid and handed one to Grissom. "So, what happened?"

"I told Greg," said Grissom blankly, his face expressionless but his eyes awash with emotion. "And he…he got angry," he finished lamely.

"I know that," said Brass impatiently, swirling his whiskey. "You told me that on the phone. But what happened? What did he say? Do? What did you say?"

Grissom sat back in his hair and looked at Brass sadly. "He thought I was joking at first. Then he told me to prove it. So he…he compared our DNA. Then he kind of broke down and we had a bit of a shouting match." Pausing, Grissom muttered, "I screwed up, Jim. I screwed up big time. And I don't know how to fix this. I don't think I can fix this." He paused again and stared off into space, eyes dark. "There's so much hatred, Jim. So much hatred he still carries with him." Grissom's eyes met Jim's. "I mean, you know Greg as well as I do. He's such a happy person, and I…I had no idea how much he bottled up inside him. He hates me now."

Sighing, Brass leaned forward, rubbing his forehead. He picked his words carefully. "Gil, I understand that you're hurt and confused by this, but did you honestly expect anything different? You have to understand where Greg is coming from. In his eyes, you not only abandoned him, but then you lied to him all this time. You have to understand that, even with good intentions, Greg can't see that right now."

"I do!" exclaimed Grissom, anguished. "Damnit, I understand. And don't you think if I could change it now, I would?" He bit his words off, shaking his head slowly. "But I can't. I can't."

Brass's eyes blazed with intensity. "No, you can't change what you have done. But you can change what you will do in the future."

Grissom threw his hands up in desperation. "And what would have me do? Go to Greg's apartment and plead and beg for his forgiveness?"

"Yes," said Brass mildly. "That is exactly what you need to do." Pausing, he took a quick sip of whiskey, gesturing for Grissom to do the same. "Look, Gil, parenting is like…well, like riding a horse. Sometimes, the horse is calm and easy to ride. At other times, the horse bucks and throws you off and canters away. But do you let it go?"

"No?" said Grissom cautiously, raising his eyebrow, vaguely wondering if Nick's spirit had temporarily taken over Brass's body.

Brass slammed his hand down on the table. "Damn straight you don't. You have to catch that horse and get right back on it."

Frowning and sighing, Grissom commented, "In this case, I think that's easier said than done."

Simply chuckling, Brass sat back in his chair and said calmly, "Welcome to parenthood." He leaned forward again. "Seriously, Gil. If you've hurt him as badly as you say, you need to make amends. As soon as possible."

"Before I leave," added Grissom softly, not meeting Brass's eyes.

Brass frowned at him, startled. "Leave? To go where?"

Grissom swallowed. He hadn't meant to reveal that snippet of information yet. "Uh, well, I'm taking a four-week sabbatical. Teaching. By Walden Pond."

Still looking at him incredulously, Brass asked slowly, "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well I…I told Ecklie," mumbled Grissom awkwardly, avoiding Brass's eyes.

Brass rolled his eyes. "I don't mean in an official capacity. I meant it as a friend." He paused before repeating, "Why didn't you tell me as a friend?"

Grissom shrugged, still looking away. "I thought I could just slip away. No good-byes, no awkwardness." He shrugged again, helplessly. "Guess I'm just screwing everything in my life up, huh?"

Frowning, Brass said gently, "You've not screwing anything up. You're doing the best you can with the situation at hand, and no one begrudges you that. Not even Greg, once he gets over being angry."

"If he gets over being angry," amended Grissom.

Brass looked at him seriously. "He will, Grissom. Eventually. He will."

Leaning forward, Grissom asked simply, "How do you know?"

Brass just half-smiled and shrugged. "You're his father. He has to."


	8. Chapter 7

_**A/N: **Happy President's day, everyone! As a gift, I'm giving you another chapter! Yay! This chapter has some GSR angst in it...actually, to be honest, this chapter is pretty much just GSR angst. Usual disclaimer applies...as always. Thanks for reading, everyone!_

Chapter 7

"_And you keep the air in my lungs  
Floating along as a melody comes  
And my heart beats like timpani drums  
Keeping the time while a symphony strums"_

Grissom let himself into his dark apartment and slumped against the wall, feeling twenty years older than he had that evening when he left for work. Arguing was never good on him; it always made him feel old and vulnerable. And arguing with Greg was no exception, but it seemed to age him even more. Grissom just didn't know how Greg could be so happy in life when he was carrying around all the anger inside of him. How had it not consumed Greg like poison?

Sighing, Grissom went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He stared at his reflection in the window over the sink, noting every new line, every new gray hair. He needed this sabbatical. He needed a break.

Grissom sighed again and trudged to the bedroom, half-hoping that Sara was asleep. He just didn't know if he could face her tonight.

He needed to tell her that he was leaving. He hadn't done that yet. And he was torn between telling Sara about the situation with Greg and telling Sara that he was leaving. Neither was one he wanted to face tonight, so he sent a mental prayer that Sara was asleep in bed, tired after a hard day's work.

Pausing at the door, he listened for a moment, trying to hear if Sara was sleeping. When he didn't hear anything, he cracked the door and slipped inside, taking care not to make any noise. He padded to the closet, silent as a spy, but it still wasn't enough.

Sara stirred and rolled over, blinking at him. "Hey," she murmured, reaching up and switching on a light. "What time is it?"

Grissom inwardly winced. "I don't know. Late." He took out his pajamas and walked over to Sara, kissing her gently on the forehead.

"Why are you home so late?" yawned Sara, rubbing her eyes. "Were you doing work this late, or what?"

Cringing slightly, Grissom didn't look at her, concentrating on changing. "Actually, I was talking to Greg about something," he said off-handedly, as if trying to diminish it as unimportant.

Frowning, Sara asked conversationally, "What were you talking about that was so important that you had to talk about it now?"

Grissom sighed deeply, buttoning his pajama buttons. "We were just discussing a personal matter. It wasn't a big deal."

Sara raised an eyebrow, looking suspicious. "A personal matter that took…" She looked at the clock. "Over an hour to discuss?" Pausing, she added softly, "Don't keep secrets from me, Gil. I want to know, to be included in your life."

"I know," said Grissom softly, still avoiding her eyes. "And I want to include you in my life as well, but there are some things from my past that are, well…difficult to explain."

Touching his arm gently, Sara said, "I know you have a past, Gil. Everyone does. But you're supposed to be able to tell me about it, so we can share it together." Pausing, she added softly, "Your past shouldn't affect our future."

Chuckling dryly, Grissom murmured, "Unfortunately, it does. It's complicated, and I'm sure you don't have time—"

Sara touched his lips with one finger. "Tell me."

Grissom looked over at her wearily, all attempts to delay gone. "Did Greg introduce you to his mother, Else, when she was here earlier?"

"Yeah," said Sara cautiously, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, she came into the lab and Greg introduced her. She's a nice lady…looked a lot like Greg."

Smiling wistfully, Grissom nodded slowly. "Yeah, she did." His smile faded. "Sara, when I was 19, I met Else in college. And we…we dated, for lack of a better term. And…she got pregnant. With Greg."

Sara's mouth was open in shock, and she just stared at him. "But that means…that means…that means you're Greg's father," she spluttered. "That's just…that's just not possible."

He shook his head, slowly. "It is. And Greg did the DNA test to prove it. 13 alleles in common. He's my son."

Shaking her head as well, faster and harder, she whispered, "No. No. It…it just can't be." Still staring at him, wide-eyed, she asked softly, "Does he know?"

Grissom avoided her eyes. "Well, he does now. He didn't know until…until today, when I told him." Hastily, he added, "I always planned on telling him, one day. I just didn't mean for the time to add up the way it did."

Sara gaped at him, accusation in her eyes. "You mean you knew? You knew this entire time, and you never told him? How could you not tell him, Gil?"

He winced. "Sara, it was complicated. I didn't want to screw up things with Greg—though that obviously didn't work—and then there were my feelings for Else to consider."

Sara recoiled from him, fury and hurt echoing in her dark eyes. "What feelings for Else?" she spat. "You loved her once, I'll give you that, but now? What feelings do you have for her now?"

"Sara," pleaded Grissom, reaching out to touch her. "Sara, please—"

"Do not touch me," hissed Sara, voice poisonously soft. "Do not try and defend your actions to me, because I don't even want to hear it." She rose from her position on the bed, eyes flashing. "You lied to me, but more importantly, you lied to Greg. For thirty-one years. So don't even try and spin this like you're sorry, like you didn't mean to do this, because in our line of work, this is what we call premeditated."

She pulled a suitcase from the closet and began throwing clothes into it. "Sara," started Grissom, voice soft and appeasing. "Sara, where are you going?"

Whirling to face him, Sara said hollowly, tears beginning to clog her voice. "I'm going back to my place. I can't stay here. Not now."

"Sara, don't go," begged Grissom quietly. "Not now, not when I'm leaving so soon."

She froze. "Leaving?" she asked, face blank. "To go where?"

His eyes searched hers, looking for one shred of hope in her eyes. "I'm going to Walden Pond. One a sabbatical, to teach."

Sara still didn't move. "For how long?"

"Four weeks," he murmured, dropping his gaze and avoiding her eyes. "I, uh, I leave in a few days, and I'll be back in four weeks."

Looking back at him, she asked, "How long did you know about this, without telling me?"

"Um, well, for a while," he said honestly.

She just stared at him, shaking her head slowly. "Were you even going to say good-bye?" she asked quietly. Without giving him a chance to answer, she said softly, "Good-bye, Gil. I'll see you at work." Pausing, she added, "We may be able to work things out, Gil. Maybe. If you make amends for everything you've done, maybe we have a chance."

With that said, she left. Grissom stared after her, shock permeating from him. Hands trembling, he reached up and took his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose. If he hadn't already been convinced that he needed to fix things, he was now. He had to make this right.


	9. Chapter 8

_**A/N: **This chapter contains: a) Greg angst and b) Grissom angst. w00t. My favorite. Uh, usual disclaimer applies...next chapter's the last one...but there is an epilogue...so, yeah. Thanks for reading! _

Chapter 8

"_And I'm drying out  
Crying out  
This isn't how I go  
Hurry now  
Lay me down  
And let these waters flow"_

Grissom took a deep breath, watching it cloud in the early morning air. So much for living in a desert. It still got cold on the winter, just like everywhere else. Sighing, he stared at the silent door of Greg's apartment, still debating whether or not to ring the doorbell.

Finally he did, listening to the bell echo throughout the apartment. He stepped back from the door, jamming his hands in his pockets. After a moment, the door opened and Greg looked out.

Grissom's heart broke all over again. Greg looked at least ten years older, exhaustion marring his young features, and his arms were red from crying. Greg looked at him, eyes dull. "What do you want, Grissom?"

Grissom said tentatively, "Greg, can I come in? I think we need to talk."

Greg didn't move. "I thought that we already finished our conversation back at the office. I don't think I have anything more to say to you, especially about this."

Taking one step forward, Grissom raised an eyebrow and said calmly, "But I think you do, and besides, I have more to say to you." Pausing, he added softly, "Please."

Though he didn't agree, or invite him in, Greg did turn and walk back into his apartment, leaving the door open. Grissom followed him into the apartment, closing the door behind him. He stood awkwardly in the foyer, hand sin his pockets. Looking around at the small, comfortable apartment, he mentioned, "Nice place."

Greg glared at him. "Thanks," he said sarcastically, settling down on the couch and drawing his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees.

Feeling Greg's eyes on him, Grissom shifted nervously and avoided his gaze. "Do you mind if I sit down?" he asked carefully. Greg shrugged one shoulder, still looking at him unblinkingly. Grissom sat down on the edge of the armchair. "Is there any chance I could get something to drink?"

Greg looked at him coldly and rolled his eyes, but he still stood and slumped over to the kitchen. "Is water ok?" he called back to Grissom.

"Sure, that's fine," said Grissom relievedly, glad for actual, cordial conversation. Greg brought him a glass and Grissom took it gratefully. "Thanks."

Shrugging again, Greg returned to the couch, stretching out like a cat, still watching him. "What do you want, Grissom?" he asked, repeating his earlier question.

Grissom swallowed. "We need to talk. I already said that."

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Start talking."

Setting his glass down on the coffee table, Grissom leaned forward. "I want to start with saying that I'm sorry. And before you cut me off and tell me that I'm not sorry, I really am. I'm sorry that this happened the way it did. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you earlier. More than anything, I'm sorry if I've ruined our relationship." He paused, looking down at his hands. "I'll understand if you can't forgive me, or what have you. Just know that I want to try and make this right anyway I possibly can." He looked up at Greg questioningly. "Say something, anything. Please."

Greg chuckled dryly and shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what you want me to say, Grissom. You fucked up. Big time. And you know it. So what do you want me to say? You want me to say that I'm angry? I am angry. I'm fucking pissed. You want me to say that I'm sorry for the way I acted? I'm not. I'm not sorry for that."

"You shouldn't be," interjected Grissom quietly. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Greg's hand balled into a fist. "Stop it. Stop being all 'oh, I'm the one to blame.' Stop acting so goddamn guilty. The Gil Grissom I once knew would never even admit he was wrong. If this is the new model, take it back to the store. It's not as if you're going to get pity from me."

Grissom looked at him sadly. "This isn't a pity attempt, Greg. It's the truth."

"Stop it!" snarled Greg, his dark eyes blazing. "Stop acting like I need to be reassured that I'm right. Stop acting like I'm so goddamn vindicated." He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly weary. "I'll just have to deal. I've done it before, I can do it again."

Frowning, Grissom said, "You shouldn't have to 'deal', Greg. Let me help you. Don't shut me out from your life. I want to help."

Simply laughing bitterly, Greg said snidely, "I think I've had just about enough of your 'help', thanks. Beside," he added in quieter tones, "there's nothing you can do to help me. There's nothing anyone can do to help fix this."

He sat back against the couch, suddenly deflated. "You know what the worst part is? I thought you were my friend, Griss. Why couldn't you just tell me?"

Seeing him like that, so defeated, made every plausible explanation Grissom had thought of over the years disappear. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I guess…I guess I was afraid to hurt you."

Greg chuckled softly. "Yeah, that turned out well, didn't it?" He paused. "I started writing this," he said suddenly, shoving a piece of paper at Grissom. "But now I don't know if I can finish it."

Raising one eyebrow, Grissom looked over at it. "Your letter of resignation?" he asked softly. "Greg, I can't accept this. Why do you want to resign?"

Greg shrugged one shoulder. "I thought it would be too hard, dealing with you, seeing you at work, and having to hide everything…I mean, Griss, you have no idea…" He paused, searching for the words. "I can't even begin to describe to you what it was like, when I first found out that my dad wasn't my dad. It was—" He trailed off contemplatively. Then he snapped his fingers. "No, I can tell you. Hold on."

Getting up from the couch, he rummaged through a drawer, finally holding a piece of paper aloft triumphantly. "Here. This is a letter I wrote back when was 15. This might just explain how I feel, and what you did to me."

Grissom took the letter and read over it, expression stoic. The words were piercing, painful. The raw hurt and hatred etched in every sentence bit at him and wounded him deeper than any physical wound could. "Is this…" he started, biting off his words. "Is this still how you feel?"

Tears glinted in Greg's eyes and he sank onto the couch, holding his stomach. "I don't know," he whispered, closing his eyes. "I don't know what to feel any more. It's all so…confusing." He paused, blinking rapidly. "I hate not knowing what to do."

Swallowing hard, Grissom closed his eyes, wishing he could adequately express how much he felt the same way right then. "Greg," he began, then stopped. He didn't know how to finish it.

Greg wiped his cheeks quickly, violently. "I think you should go, Grissom," he said softly, voice hardening, though he avoided looking at Grissom. "I think I need to be alone for a little bit."

"Sure," said Grissom, holding up his hands disarmingly. "Sure. I'll go. And, I'll, uh…I'll see you at work, right?" Greg nodded, still not looking at him. "And Greg? If you need anything, call me."

Now Greg looked at Grissom, meeting his eyes with an intensity that burned. "I need something, Grissom. I need answers. I just don't know if I can trust you to give them to me." He nodded towards the door. "You can let yourself out. I need to call my mom."

Grissom inclined his head once, briefly, feeling his cheeks flush slightly with the suddenness of the dismissal. "Good-bye," he said softly, going over to the door and leaving, closing it behind him.

As he stood in front of Greg's apartment, he closed his eyes, hearing the muted sounds of Greg's sobs coming from inside the apartment. "The worst feeling I ever have, Greggo," he whispered to himself, "is not knowing what to do, either."


	10. Chapter 9

_**A/N: **So, last chapter. Only the epilogue left. Italics in this chapter indicate Grissom thinking back to the events in the first part of episode 7x11 ("Leaving Las Vegas"). And while the angst kind of continues in this chapter, it also gets a wee bit sappy, for which I apologize in advance. Usual disclaimer applies...please read and review! _

Chapter 9  


"_Son I am not everything  
You thought that I would be  
But every story I have told is part of me  
Son I leave you now  
But you have so much more to do  
And every story I have told is part of you"_

Telling Catherine was the easiest. Grissom was surprised by that, but then again, Catherine had been focused on something else entirely at the time. And Grissom knew that once Catherine got her mind set on something, it was difficult to dredge it off-track, even with the bombshell that he had dropped.

_Catherine's eyes were surprised by the news, but Grissom had expected that. There was a calculating look in her eyes at the same time, and he knew that she was rapidly thinking. "When are you leaving?" she asked._

"_Tomorrow night," he responded, still watching her face._

_The look in her eyes hardened into fiery determination. "I'll be back before then." Her mind was made up, and she turned to leave. Suddenly, she stopped and looked back at him. "How long have you known about this?"_

The question hadn't been sharp, or even accusatory, but it still burned in Grissom's conscience. It was just one more reminder that he should've told them, should've told all of them.

There were so many things he needed to say, had avoided saying for so long. One of those things was to Warrick.

"_Whether you know it or note, you're the rock of my team. Catherine's going to be in charge for awhile while I'm gone. Be there for her like you've been there for me and we'll all be fine."_

_Warrick seemed slightly taken aback by this, but he seemed pleased as well. "Thanks. It means a lot. You know I got you covered." _

Grissom knew that Warrick did have him covered, and that relieved him, just enough to alleviate a fraction of the guilt that still seemed to hound him.

Telling Greg, of course, didn't need to happen, since he already knew. Instead, Grissom went to talk to him about his civil case. He knew that Greg needed help with that, however he might stolidly deny it.

_The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife. Grissom stood awkwardly next to Greg while Greg poured himself a cup of coffee."Hey, how's it going with your civil case?" asked Grissom cautiously, well aware that the events of that one night were not yet forgotten._

_Greg finished pouring his cup of coffee. "LVPD said they'll provide me with an attorney."_

_That simple statement summed up how little Greg knew about what he had gotten himself into. Grissom's forehead furrowed. "Get your own counsel, Greg. That's your right."_

_Raising one eyebrow, Greg glanced at him, eyes dark. "Well, are you gonna give me a raise? Because otherwise I can't afford that."_

_Something twisted in Grissom's gut, a feeling torn between amusement and relief. At least Greg's naivety was still intact. "Call the PPACE, talk to your union rep." Grissom spoke with the calm authority of one who had dealt with this before. "This was an on-duty incident. They'll provide you with an attorney."_

_Now Greg's brow wrinkled in confusion. "How's the union lawyer going to be any different?"_

_Grissom's mouth twisted in slightly bitter amusement. "The department's only interest is the department. They'll throw you under the bus to protect themselves. When's your deposition?"_

_Greg's eyes darkened. "Three weeks from today."_

_Grissom looked at him seriously, trying to convey the entire sense of how much faith he had in Greg with only one glance. "Stick to whatever you put in the report. Don't waiver, be consistent. Everything's gonna be fine."_

Whether he was referring to the deposition or their relationship, Grissom still didn't know.

* * *

It was late in the day, the day that Grissom was leaving. He had survived saying good-bye to everyone, including the incredibly awkward good-bye to Nick, who couldn't seem to believe that Grissom was indeed coming back. Now there was only one final good-bye left, and it was probably going to be the hardest good-bye of all. 

He paused in the doorway, eyes lingering on her as she got ready for work. "Hey," he said softly.

Sara looked up at him, her eyes dark. She didn't respond, simply watching him. He cleared his throat softly and continued. "My cab is here."

He could see the gears working in her mind, trying to conjure up the right thing to say. In the next instant, he swore he could see her deflate. "So you're going."

There was quiet, reluctant acceptance in her voice, the gentle weariness of someone who had wrestled with the right thing to do and finally just given up. She had yet to come back to Grissom's place since that night, and though Grissom had an undeniable urge to make things right he didn't know how. Instead, he answered with a noncommittal, "Yeah."

Sara still watched him, face and eyes emotionless. "I'll see you when you get back."

She turned back to her locker, grabbing her ID badge and putting it on. Grissom watched her sadly, the crushing weight of the whole situation falling on him in that moment. He knew it was hopeless to try and atone for anything he had done, however he had hurt her. There was no penance that could be earned.

He took one step towards her, trying to keep his expression as calm as possible, so as to not reveal the emotionally turmoil he was really in. She looked over at him, and his eyes searched hers, begging her to understand, to forgive. "I'll miss you," he said quietly, and he knew he would. He already missed her, and he hadn't even gone yet.

Sara nodded once, eyes still not showing anything. Grissom just stood there a moment more, watching her, and then he turned away to leave. His heart grew heavier with each step he took toward the door. Somehow, he just knew that he had left something undone, that he hadn't accomplished something that he desperately needed to before he left.

Stepping outside, he took a deep breath of the cool night air. He started down the steps toward the cab waiting by the curb, but a voice called him back. "Grissom!"

Grissom turned back, eyes questioning. "Greg?"

Greg stood in the door of the crime lab, his own expression tentative. "Grissom," he repeated, taking a step towards him. "I, uh, I…" he started nervously.

Raising one eyebrow, Grissom frowned at him. Greg was more nervous than Grissom had ever seen him before. "Spit it out, Greg," he said calmly. "My cab is waiting."

Greg swallowed hard. "I, uh…I wanted to say good-bye, Griss. We never really said good-bye, before, at…at my apartment."

"Well, good-bye, then," said Grissom lightly, trying to interject some levity into the situation.

A frown flitted across Greg's face, and he nodded jerkily. "Right. Good-bye." He turned to go back to the crime lab, then stopped. "Look, Grissom," he said softly, so that Grissom had to strain to hear him. "Look, I may not understand why you did everything you did, but what I wanted to say was…" He paused, and turned around to face Grissom, unshed tears glinting in his eyes. "I wanted to say that I forgive you. I…I'm still angry, and upset, but…" He trailed off, unable to finish because of the tears that were coursing down his face.

Tears were clogging Grissom's throat as well, and all he could manage was a croaked, "Greg."

He opened his arms and Greg practically ran into them, crying into his shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," whispered Grissom, stroking Greg's hair. It felt so right, so perfect, in that one moment. It felt like how Grissom always imagined having a son would feel like.

Greg pulled away a minute later, roughly wiping the tears off his cheeks. He cleared his throat loudly. "You'd, um, you'd better get going," he whispered hoarsely. "You don't want to be late for your flight."

"Oh, right," said Grissom, dazedly. He'd almost forgotten about it. "Right. My flight."

He reached out and gripped Greg's arm. "Good-bye, Greg," he said softly, sincerely.

Greg half-smiled. "Good-bye, Dad." Then he turned, heading back up the steps into the crime lab, back to work, back to his life, back to everything Grissom was leaving.

"Good-bye, my son," whispered Grissom, eyes shining with tears again. "I will return to you. I promise."


	11. Epilogue

**_A/N: _**_The end has come, friends. This has been a fantastic journey for me. I never expected this little story to be as successful as it has been. I want to thank everyone who has read this along the way. Extended thank you's will be at the bottom. Usual disclaimer applies; song is "Emotionless" by Good Charlotte. Thanks once again to everyone for reading this! And now, without further ado..._

Epilogue

"_Hey Dad  
I'm writing to you  
Not to tell you  
That I still hate you  
But just to ask you how it feels  
And how this fell apart_

_It's been a long hard road  
Without you by my side  
Why weren't you there  
All the nights that I cried  
You broke my mother's heart  
You broke your child for life  
It's not ok, but we're alright  
I remember the days  
You were a hero in my eyes  
But those are just the long-lost memories of mine  
And I'm writing just to let you know  
I'm still alright"_

Greg carefully slid the yellowed sheet of notebook paper out of his desk. He opened it slowly, carefully, smoothing the familiar creases until the fading pencil marks were visible.

With a sigh, he read over the words, so angry and so bitter. He had written this letter at possibly one of the worst times in his life, when he had felt like he had no father at all.

Setting the letter down, Greg closed his eyes. He had a father now, but it still seemed so strange to call him that. He had hated that man, the one who had abandoned him, who hadn't cared enough about him to stay. More accurately, he had hated the idea of that man, having never met him.

And then he had met him. Whether it had been the call of destiny or just dumb luck that brought him from Frisco to Vegas, he would never know. But somehow, he wound up working for him, the man who had given him half his genes, without ever even knowing it was him. He had respected that man, even come to call him friend.

Until now. Now, he didn't know what to feel. Up was down and left was right, and every feeling, the hatred, anger and bitterness along with the admiration, respect and love, were all mixed together until he couldn't even tell what he was feeling anymore.

And worst of all, he had no idea what to do. He was so tired of being angry, so tired of being sad. All he wanted was for it to be over, so that maybe now he could sleep at night.

If there was a solution to this problem, he didn't know what it was. There was a rift in his life, a tear in his heart that he could not find a way to fix. He literally felt ripped in half. On one hand, on the happy-go-lucky Greggo side, he wanted nothing more than to forgive and forget, and maybe find a way to bring his father into his life. But on the other hand, he didn't know how he could forgive what had been done to him. He knew in his heart that he would never understand why Grissom had done what he had. There was no way to fathom that type of hurt and how someone could willingly inflict it on someone else.

There was an emptiness in his life now. But he knew deep within himself that it was him with the power to fill it. Not Grissom. Grissom had done all he could to atone, had apologized and begged for forgiveness. Now it was Greg's turn to change himself, to be strong enough to fight the pain that threatened to overwhelm him. He had a fight to take on, the fight to free himself from the hatred he had carried so long inside him.

And just then, he knew. In one shining moment of crystal clear certainty, he knew what to do. It wouldn't solve it, and it certainly wouldn't heal the wounds inflicted so many years ago. But it was an acknowledgement of the past so that he could move on with the future.

Picking up a pen, Greg pulled the letter towards him. He hesitated for just a moment and then wrote in bold strokes at the bottom, "I love you. And I miss you. Your son, Greg Sanders."

He put the letter back and stood, stretching. He still had a lot to figure out, still had much to decide. But at least this time, he didn't have to be alone. He wouldn't be alone, not now that he finally had a father.

"_And sometimes I forget  
And this time, I'll admit  
That I miss you  
Said I miss you  
Hey Dad"_

* * *

_**A/N (Pt. 2):** Special thanks to all who reviewed: 20yearfriend, Aphid24, SoulofaDragonfly, GregSanders (thanks for archiving this, too!), Little Artemis, Kuriei137, Jaimi, StoryDreamer, WONDERful, katie, ProdigiousDiscourse, Mr. Harelip, MSCSIFANGSR, knadineg, MYSTICAL PANTHER, Missing Whisper, kalea87, Wolften, Matteic, Misile, Ivy3, key-to-life, iluv-the-o.c001, and Jennie. All your reviews are what kept this and me going, and I cannot express my gratitude enough._

_So, for one final time, thanks for reading and reviewing!  
_


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